You've Been Served
by Spiralled
Summary: Written for the prompt: Dean, Faith and food after a successful hunt. What more do you need to know?


"Are you sure about this?" Dean pulled at the bright green polyester jacket. After two hours of dead-end deliveries it was chaffing his armpits. He nodded toward the Impala, which was wearing an _Amore Pizza_ sign, complete with a cheesy moon covered in green and black olives – which looked disturbingly like acne. "My girl wasn't created to have that hideous_ thing _on her. It's sacrilege."

"Ring the bell," hissed Faith. She was pressed tight against the house, keeping out of the line of sight, which put her in close contact with a sharp-needled evergreen.

"Feeling a little prickly, Faith?"

"Winchester…"

He thought about telling her to relax and not get her panties in a bunch, but unlike Sam, she would actually kick his ass. So he rang the bell.

The redhead who answered the door was tall with legs that went on forever. Her jeans were as tight at the pair Faith had painted on. _Score._

"Who's there, Mara?" That was asked by a woman who walked into the room while still buttoning up her snug, white shirt. He couldn't help but admire her curtain of dark hair and the way it reached to the small of her back.

"It's the pizza delivery guy, Cara. His name's Richard."

"That's what the tag says, but my friends call me Dick." He fumbled with the insulated bag, pulling out the house special. "Total's $16.30."

"You're cute, Dick." A blonde had come out of nowhere and was running her hands along his upper arms, ending with a little squeeze. "And strong. I never meet such muscular men when I go out."

Her lower lip pushed out in a pout so inviting that Dean had to resist the urge to kiss it and make it all better. Next thing he knew, they were pulling him into the living room, divesting him of his pizza bag and jacket, nibbling at his earlobes, undoing his belt, and pulling at his t-shirt. Damn, what were the odds?

"Whoa, ladies. I just came to deliver the pizza."

"We're hungry for something else." The trio punctuated their not so-subtle innuendo with hands that had moved south.

He was supposed to be saying 'no' to this. The reason why was on the tip of his tongue, but then something else took its place. Who was he to argue? Mara's lips were in need of some serious investigation.

Cara was elbowing in for a little TLC, but before he could kiss it and make it all better, Faith cuffed the back of his head and slapped a silver knife in his hand.

That knocked enough sense into him to recognize the feel of his knife and to remember the mission. With a twist and hard yank, he pulled himself out of their grasp. Together, he and Faith took out the first two in short order. But Cara shifted shape – and the new form didn't even rank coyote ugly.

"Pucker up!" he shouted, knowing he needed to do finish it off before it found equilibrium in this form.

"My sisters!" it roared, pulling back its arm.

Sisters. Figured. But before Dean could sink the knife in, he found himself sailing across the room until the wall stopped his flight. By the time he picked himself up, Faith as dispatched it. Flecks of blood and gore covered the space.

"Thanks, Faith. I didn't expect their mojo to work that fast." Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he added, "You know what this means, don't you?"

"Sammy's going to do the 'I told you so' dance?"

"Don't remind me." He made a face. "What I was actually thinking is how this has ruined several perfectly good fantasies. Thank you, succubi. Bye-bye naughty nurse. Adios sexy French maid."

That last bit would have had Sam sputtering, but Faith just rolled her eyes and said, "I call dibs on the shower in your maid-free motel room." She then treated him to a lazy, sexy smile that took his mind to a whole new set of fantasies.

~.~.~

Shocker was Faith really did want to shower alone.

Since he couldn't take a cold shower while waiting take a hot one, he headed out to the parking lot and gave his baby some attention. First he tossed the eyesore of a pizza sign, and then wiped down the seats, making sure to slip the towel into the crevices, making sure none of the gore got lodged down there. He finished up with the promise of some fresh fluids as way of an apology.

Reentering the room, Dean fully expected to cool his heels a little longer - the payoff being Faith stepping out of the steamed up bathroom.

No such luck.

"You done already?" Not only was she out of the shower, but dried and dressed.

"Yup." Faith tossed his duffel bag to him. "All yours, Winchester."

~.~.~

Maybe his luck was changing; the water was still hot when he closed the taps. Rubbing his hair dry, he considered and rejected the idea of walking out in nothing but a towel. Hell, in the past he wouldn't have needed ask the question. Faith would put the moves on before he'd gotten out of the shower. Dealing with porno plagiarizing demons had put a crimp in things.

It turned out the whole clothes or no clothes thing was a moot point. She wasn't in the main room.

"Faith?" Where'd she gone? Maybe for takeout. Girl had an _appetite_. He grinned. Appetites. Pushing the motel curtain aside, his jaw dropped. No fucking way. She'd taken his girl. "Not on, Faith. Not on."

Adrenaline kicked in. Scrambling for his phone, he did the only logical thing. On the third ring he got an answer.

_Hello?_

"Sammy? Faith! She, she…" He couldn't even put it into words.

_Dean, I told you last time, I don't want to know the details of how you two… unwind after a job. Really._

"But, Sammy—" Someone was rapping at the door. Faith had a key. Hell, she had a whole set of keys, so why would she knock? Dropping his voice, he said, "I'll call you back – and be ready to spill on what's gone down with you and Buffy, keeping in mind I don't have your hang-ups."

Pulling his knife out, Dean moved toward the door. Through the peephole he could see someone in a baggy green jacket with a newsboy hat obscuring the face. "Yeah?"

"Pizza for Randy Fellows."

It sounded sorta like Faith, but what was up with the rest of it? Besides, he wasn't happy with her right now. "You must have wrong room."

"Pretty sure I've got the right room." This time she lifted her face; it was Faith. "It's a pizza." She paused, licking her lips. "For. Randy. Fellows."

Huh? Oh. Oooooh. "Ah, yeah. That's me."

He was grinning like a fool as he opened the door. Hello reclaimed fantasies. "Is it hot?"

"It's hot," she replied, handing him the box, which held an actual pizza – and one that smelled surprisingly appetizing – but he dropped it on the desk. His attention was on the jacket button she was undoing.

"The works?"

"All the toppings you like." There went another button, and it was looking promising that there was nothing but a lacy bra underneath.

"Wanna come in and show me?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

In a whirl of motion, she was in the room and propelling him backward onto the bed. Definitely the best delivery ever.


End file.
